


Greater Than Ours

by reassembleme



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Warden Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reassembleme/pseuds/reassembleme
Summary: “The Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens, so the Chantry says, as no sacrifice is greater than theirs.”





	Greater Than Ours

Perhaps things would’ve been different had she known about it earlier. It’s too late now, as she stares at Alistair with hard eyes, hands trembling. She could easily let Riordan do this for them, make this sacrifice - but something in her won’t let her. It’s a guilty tug in her chest, the weight of all their months of preparation. She has to be the one.

 

“Wardens are supposed to sacrifice, Alistair!”

 

“And that’s why I’m taking that blow,” Alistair says, unfamiliar. He stands across from her; such a different man than at their first meeting. There are no easy lines of laughter in his face here now, they’ve hardened into something else entirely. His jaw is set as he holds her gaze, a conviction there that had been absent a year ago. It’s been so long since she’s felt the bite of tears prick at her eyes, but they burn now. She sighs just slightly, relenting. She releases the hold she’d had on her hands, unclenching them to run them through her hair. She’ll allow it for now. Things can’t be left like this, not tonight. Slowly, she reaches out her hands to grab his. She stares down at them for a moment, freckled and calloused as they are, before dragging her eyes back to his. She pulls him close to her. He bends forward slightly, their foreheads touching. Imperceptibly, she nods.

 

“Okay, Alistair,” she says, voice quiet in the space between them and steadier than she thought it’d be. He pulls her into an embrace, and they remain like this until she has to leave. Morrigan’s waiting, and dread settles in her gut as she makes way to her room.

 

Her return isn’t quiet. They argue again on the news she brings from Morrigan. Her eyes are tinged red now, her hair a mussed nest on her head. Alistair turns helpless eyes to her in the face of her resolve. His conviction has melted into pleading, but Ilona is firm. It’s he who relents now; what other choice do they have. Stiffly, she exits the room, passing Morrigan. She nods at her, but Ilona ignores her friend, briskly pressing on. _Maker help us._

 

 

* * *

 

 

She’s always been a bit of a terrible rogue. What she lacks in stealth, she makes up for in her concoctions and brute force. Fergus had always scolded her for her recklessness; stubbornly, she had ignored him. Ilona thinks of him now as she grits her teeth and charges the beasts ahead of her. Twin blades slash into putrid flesh and the scent assails her senses. She loses count of how many are falling at her daggers. It doesn’t matter, more remain. The stream is endless, wave after wave crashing around them. Her blood soars through her veins, flooding her ears as she pushes forward. _I can not stop now._ Out of the corner of her eye, Morrigan weaves storms of fire, ice, and lightning. Leliana shouts her encouragement from behind as her arrows fly. Alistair stands at the front lines with her, as always.

 

Her eyes begin to betray her. The shadows of her family dance in the flames around her. Those she’s lost, those she fears of losing. She blinks, and their bodies are strewn across the cobblestone. She’s moving faster now as tears threaten to fall, breaking the lines of the creatures before her. She dips and weaves her way through the bodies, coated blades flashing as she does. Fergus would disapprove - but Fergus isn’t here now. Ilona has one goal now. Desperation pulls her forward, and she’s the first to step foot on the roof of Fort Drakon. She greets the Archdemon head on, urgency driving her attack. She glances back at her companions behind her, at Alistair beside her. _I will_ not _lose anyone else._

 

It’s not until her blades are buried to the hilt in the dragon’s head that she realizes it’s over. Her ears are ringing and her chest is heaving. Her eyes are wild, looking everywhere and nowhere. Denerim still burns around them, singed and silent in the aftermath. Stunned, she lifts herself off the great beast. Alistair’s arms sweep her off her feet, and he twirls her in elated circles. She snaps her eyes down to Alistair’s; relief and exhaustion clear in his smile, in the crinkle of his brows. She laughs breathlessly, a small exhale that quickly turns into a choked laugh as she cups his face and crushes her lips against his. They’re smiling and laughing and crying against each other, and something in Ilona’s chest swells.

 

* * *

 

 

The Warden Commander leans over her desk, writing some final notes before she retires for the night. Candles burn low all over the small tent, casting shadows around her. Parting ways with Alistair hadn’t been ideal, but the Calling and the cure both demanded attention. Again, she tells herself it’s better this way. The evidence lies in front of her. She’s close -- _so close_ to the cure. Alistair’s letters prove fruitful as well, even more so since his meeting with Leliana’s Inquisition. Now, she carefully folds the half written letter to him. She can finish it tomorrow. She begins to pack it away with the rest of her research, pushing herself off of her chair. She stretches, yawns, wipes tired hands across her face. Ilona shuffles her papers off to one corner. She’s methodically blowing out each candle when the letter comes.

 

The messenger is young, nervous. She wears Inquisition armor and there’s just the slightest tremble in her grip as she hands Ilona the scroll. She’s all politeness and professionalism, refusing to meet Ilona’s eyes. She’s gone as quickly as she’d arrived, nearly eager to leave. Ilona stares after her; bleary eyes blinking at her retreating form before she reenters the warmth of her tent. She sits down, leaning back into her bedroll. Her hand stills when she sees Leliana’s seal over the letter. She rips it open, eyes swiftly scanning, searching. She reads it again, and again. Then ten times, and twenty. She barely registers the tremor that takes her, the chill that spreads from her spine out to the rest of her. Her eyes burn through her friend’s letter, much too short and leaving her with none of the explanation she needs. There’s also an official condolence from the Inquisitor, which leaves her empty. She’s burning and falling all at once, the floor swooping out from under her. _No. No no no no no no. No._

 

Something in her fractures, choked laughter bubbling up unbidden. She sits on the floor of the tent, head in her hands, breaths coming hard and fast. She thinks of him, easy and beaming, telling her he’d be back at her side before they knew it. Shakily, she stands. She grabs her pack, throws it across the small space with a scream that claws its way out of her throat. She stands there, chest heaving, for many weighted moments. She swallows, exhales deeply. With unsteady hands, she carefully gathers her belongings. She waits, lets the grief rock through her as she stares around her tent - now cold and empty to her. She packs her research, resolve seeping through the ache in her chest.

 

His sacrifice will not be for nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! xx


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